Moments
by dreamsoflove311
Summary: "Find your eternity in each moment."  -Henry David Thoreau...  This story is a compilation of moments involving Jane, Lisbon, and the team.
1. You Got Me

**A/N: So this story is going to be a compilation of random moments featuring Jane, Lisbon, and the team. Each chapter will be a different moment. Past, present, future, AU...it's all fair game. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist! :)**

**Chapter Summary- Jane's thoughts on his first time working with Lisbon.**

"_You know you caught me off my highest guard_

_Believe me when I say it's hard"  
><em>

He had heard the rumors going around that the Red John case might go to her. It wasn't a sure thing yet, but it was a distinct possibility. She was the rising star of the CBI, why not put the case of California's most prolific serial killer in her obviously capable hands. It was all just as well, seeing as how hers was practically the only unit in the building he had yet to be assigned to.

He had yet to meet her but he'd heard she was good, very good. He had also heard that she was competent and by the book, a devout follower if the rules. Unfortunate, since he viewed rules as something more like guidelines that didn't really apply to him. They were bound to dislike each other on principle. It really was too bad he wouldn't last much longer on her team than any of the others, (his longest run to date was about two weeks) it would have been extremely convenient to be on the team with the Red John case. Perhaps he should try a little harder to behave himself this time, he could have such wonderfully easy access...

Teresa Lisbon was everything he'd heard she was, and more. Along with being a good leader and a rule lover, she was also smart as a whip, tough, witty, commanding, loyal, and quite pretty. And she was smaller, much smaller, than he had been expecting given all he'd heard about her. He found he was intrigued by her, which was new for him. People generally didn't present him with much of a challenge anymore-he could figure them out with little effort-but she was something of a mystery. If he'd hoped he could charm his way into her good graces, he had been wrong.

Agent Teresa Lisbon was an enigma he hadn't been expecting. She was driven and hard working, almost to a fault, but he could see playfulness lurking under the surface, though he suspected she very rarely let that part of herself free. Also anger, he could tell from the get go that she had a quick temper. The first time she snapped at him, he found himself wanting to provoke her anger again, he couldn't help it. She was absolutely adorable when she was angry, in a terrifying kind of way. He almost died laughing the first time he saw that giant of a man, Rigsby, cowering under her furious gaze. As it was, when he chuckled, her glare had immediately relocated itself to him. He had only smiled brightly in return, it had been a long time since he had laughed with any real amusement.

His first case with the team went almost exactly as he'd expected. Though he did try to be on his best behavior, he had her yelling at him by the end of the first day. He was surprised when he made it though the whole case without getting the boot, in his previous experience the agent in charge usually requested a transfer long before the end of a case. The night the case was closed, she called him to her office. He figured now was when she reassigned him to another team. He was a bit disappointed, he had liked working with her more than any of the other agents. He couldn't say why exactly, he just had a feeling about her. Maybe he could persuade her to change her mind? It was worth a try anyways, since the Red John case had now officially been assigned to her team.

He sat, facing her across her desk, watching her narrowed eyes analyze him.

"So, I've finally had my turn working with the infamous Patrick Jane. I'd heard rumors that it was a trying experience."

"And do you agree? Was the experience trying?" It was making him uncomfortable that he had no idea what she was going to say next. Not even a hint. He was unused to people being able to shield their thoughts from him as well as she was...not that he was going to let her in on that knowledge...ever.

"I found it...intriguing." She regarded him for a long moment, he made sure he was wearing his most innocent expression. "I like you." His jaw almost hit the floor. He schooled his reaction to her unexpected words just in time, but he could tell she'd seen his initial surprise and was amused. In fact, she looked downright pleased with herself for getting the drop on him. When was the last time anyone had surprised him like this? He couldn't remember. Her eyes sparkled at him and she continued. "You irritate the hell out of me, but I like you. Mostly I like how quickly you helped us close this case, even if I did disagree-vehemently-with your methods. I think you could be an asset. Of course, you could just as easily be a detriment, but I suppose we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Besides, my boss has informed me that there are practically no other units which you haven't been kicked off of so I'm not sure we would have anywhere to transfer you to."

She wasn't entirely happy with the situation, he realized, but she was going to keep him on anyways. Chagrin and amusement tangled in her eyes. It was the first time he noticed that she liked to take care of things that were broken and alone, to piece them back together. She was a fixer, contrary and determined. He thought perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if she wanted to try to piece him together, not that she would succeed, but it might be nice to have someone in his corner. He smiled his most charming smile.

"You'll have to excuse my incredulity, I have found that I am somewhat unpopular with the agents here. You would like me to become part of your team on a permanent basis?"

"Yes." Her eyebrows knit, she was trying to decide wether or not to say something. Her chin lifted. "I've read your file," her eyes held his, "I know your background. I know that the true reason for your being here is your desire to find Red John." He wasn't smiling anymore. "I'm only saying this so that you know I understand your motivation, where you're coming from, at least to an extent. The point is, you want to stop him and I want him stopped, maybe we can help each other."

"Red John is mine." She had a right to know just what she was getting herself into, who she was aligning herself with. She sighed.

"I think that's one of those 'cross it when we get to it' scenarios." She smiled again, it was a peace offering. He nodded, this would do for now. Her smile widened and she extended her hand so they could shake on it. "Welcome to the team, Jane."

He stood and grasped her hand, brushing a kiss across the back, intentionally flustering her. He had to gain back some of the power in this new relationship after all.

"Agent Lisbon, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership." His most dazzling smile accompanied his words. She snatched her hand from his grasp with an annoyed frown, the first of many, he assumed.

"Don't push your luck, Jane."

**A/N: The lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from the song 'Almost Alive' by Secondhand Serenade**


	2. Flight

**A/N: So, on to chapter two! My immeasurable thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, you're all wonderful! Enjoy!**

**Chapter Summary- Lisbon reflecting on why she works with Jane.**

"_Let me run through a field in the night_

_Let me lift from the ground till my soul is in flight_

_Let me sway like the shade of a tree_

_Let me swirl like a cloud in a storm on the sea"_

When she was younger, before everything, her father used to come home from work everyday yelling, "Where's my little mischief maker?" and every day she had run to fling herself into her daddy's arms.

Her mother had called her Tornado Teresa because she left chaos in her wake. Her brothers had been a veritable circus and she had been their ringleader. She had convinced them to pull the silliest pranks and the most reckless stunts. She cajoled, coerced, and dared them, all the while smiling like an angel. She'd been a triple threat, sneaky, smart, and sweet. She ran rampant, curious and excited. She was playful, and wild, and free.

After her mother's death and her father's alcoholism, she'd locked those facets of herself away, she'd become the responsible one, the strong one, the mother. She had adopted the problem solving, no nonsense, take control persona she still carried to this day, and left behind the wild exhilaration of her younger years. Nowadays she channeled that uninhibited energy into morning runs and the shooting range.

When she met Patrick Jane, he reminded her of who she used to be, reminded her of who she sometimes wished she could be again. She let her wild side free vicariously through him. His exuberance, playfulness, and trickery were an outlet for her own. She would be forever grateful to him for providing that for her, for allowing her inner mischief making tornado to take flight...not that she was ever going to tell him she felt that way..._ever._

Sure, sometimes she yearned for the good old days before Jane when they used to solve crimes the "old fashioned way," with detecting and evidence, and interrogation. Of course, Jane's way of solving cases was equally as effective and frequently faster. And even if he did wreak utter chaos, at least most of the time it was fun.

Teresa Lisbon might look like a tough as nails, serious, rule abiding, straight-laced cop, but she was a mischief maker at heart.

"_I'll just row_

_Let me lose all control _

_I wanna float like a wish in a well_

_Free as the sound of the sea in a shell"_

**A/N: Lyrics from the song "Flight" by Sutton Foster**


	3. Silly Little Moment

**A/N: Okay, so here's chapter three! This chapter is from Cho's P.O.V. Enjoy!**

"_I'll make the most of all the sadness."_

The first time, he came upon them completely by accident. Unfinished paperwork had brought him to the CBI early. Early enough that only a few other cars sat in the parking lot. Jane's of course, but that was no shock since he spent most nights in the CBI attic or on his couch. Lisbon's too, also unsurprising since she always got to work obscenely early.

He bypassed his desk, headed for the break room to see what he could do about getting some caffeine into his system-it was entirely too early to be at work when they didn't have any outstanding cases. Lisbon's office light was on, so it was a good bet that she already had a pot of coffee going. He didn't see Jane anywhere, the consultant was probably doing whatever it was he did up in the attic.

He'd barely rounded the corner when he saw them, together in the break room. Standing at the sink, Jane was washing the coffee pot and Lisbon was waiting next to him with a towel, hip propped against the counter. Cho stopped where he was, and stared. Lisbon was smiling.

Not a big smile or an amused one, it wasn't forced or tired. It was small and subtle, gentle and easy. Cho didn't think he'd ever seen the boss smile like that before, especially not at their wayward consultant.

Jane handed her the pot to dry and she passed him the tea kettle to fill with water. They swapped and Jane filled the pot while Lisbon placed the kettle on the hot plate. He handed her the water filled coffee pot, then reached around her as she poured it into the machine to plug it in for her. He opened the cabinet above his head retrieved Lisbon's personal stash of coffee, handed it off as she slid the box of tea she'd pulled from the drawer across the counter to him. Jane smiled at Lisbon and handed her a coffee filter. Cho had never seen such an unguarded and content look on the consultant's face.

He watched the proceedings with immense interest, obviously they had done this before, it was fluid, routine. They never fumbled or reached for the same thing, handing each other items without question or comment. They never bumped into each other as they moved around the small kitchen, collecting milk and sugar and cups, awaiting the preparation of their respective morning drinks. It was comfortable and easy, habitual. So easy and effortless that they moved without speaking, comfortable enough to work together in silence. It was like a dance, perfectly choreographed and seamlessly orchestrated. They danced around each other, fluid and graceful, they side stepped then brushed fingers, came together and moved apart. He felt like he was intruding on a private moment, interrupting an established intimacy. He wondered just how many mornings they had spent this way. It was so strange and cute he had to smile. This unlikely pair was having a moment. It was a muted and subtle moment, sure, but watching their body language, he was positive this was a daily ritual. It was entirely unexpected and yet it made complete sense.

He observed them for a moment longer. They leaned against the counter side by side, each holding a steaming cup. Jane was meticulously dunking a tea bag, and Lisbon was clutching her mug in both hands, holding it close to her face, presumably inhaling the aroma. They looked so peaceful together, it was a dramatic change from the crackling energy and tension they usually radiated.

He figured he should probably get started on his paperwork, he could survive another half hour without coffee. He left the agent and consultant to their moment and retreated to his desk, still smiling.

After that first day, he started coming in early a few times a week simply to see if they would be there, conducting their early morning ritual, dancing around each other. They usually always were, the exception being days they were out on a case. It was quirky, and sweet, and so utterly them. Leave it to Lisbon and Jane to bond over coffee and tea in the wee hours of the morning, spend the rest of the day at odds with each other, and then still meet the following day.

One morning, after a particularly nasty fight, he was certain they wouldn't be there. Lisbon was way too angry and Jane was way too smug. He'd hypnotized a suspect and gotten evidence thrown out. Of course, it had all worked out in the end, exactly the way Jane had said it would, and everything was okay, but Lisbon had been furious with the consultant for the duration of the case.

When he got to the CBI they were there, together in the break room, just like every other day, sipping their morning beverages side by side. Though they were in the middle of a battle of wills and wits, their fight was seemingly on hold. He was simultaneously surprised and unsurprised. Apparently they weren't willing to sacrifice their morning ritual simply because they were having professional differences. Cho was glad, he was in favor of anything which brought that look of true contentment to two people such as Lisbon and Jane, even if it was something as simple and silly as a few shared moments every morning over coffee and tea.


	4. Do You Want To Be Found?

**A/N: Alright here is chapter 4! Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter Summary: Lisbon thinking about Jane, his lack of communication, and his defenses. **

**PS. I don't own the Mentalist!**

"_Chasing you around the room is tempting_

_So near and far away from meaning anything to you."_

Figuring out Jane's thought process was like going in circles, you would start out in the right place and continue, thinking you were getting somewhere, only to end up exactly where you started, with no idea how you got there.

It took more than a few tries and lots of erratic thinking to get a read on Patrick Jane, and usually once she did, it was only to realize later that it was because he had allowed her to.

He was erratic, all over the board. He went in so many different directions that it was impossible to keep up. He was constantly in motion, forever transitioning. It was a rare day that his seemingly boundless energy flagged enough to reveal a hint of the sad and hurting man beneath. It wasn't until he'd used up everything he had that she ever got a glimpse of the real him.

With Jane it was like pulling teeth to find out anything, and not because he was quiet. On the contrary, he talked more than almost anyone Lisbon knew, he just didn't say anything remotely personal or real when it came to himself. She had developed a process over all of her years with him, a system. She had begun to catalogue his expressions and tones of voice. He studied the art of human behavior and she studied the art of the behavior of Patrick Jane. She'd taken a leaf out of his book and put her powers of observation to use, she paid attention. For close to seven years she had made a study of him. She was pretty sure she knew him better than maybe anyone else in her life, and certainly better than anyone in his. She knew his uncommunicativeness was a barrier, a shield, just like everything else about him.

She had to learn him, had to know him. What other choice did she have? It was either that, or have him followed to keep him out of trouble. Although, she doubted even the best surveillance team could keep tabs on Jane.

He had been punished once for speaking out, in the most cruel of ways, and once was enough. He had learned from what he viewed as his mistake, especially given that the great Patrick Jane wasn't supposed to make mistakes. Consequently, he kept his theories to himself, guarded his ideas, and his plans. He worked alone. He didn't need help or protection, company, rescuing, friendship...love. Those things had died with his family, he believed he no longer deserved them. He wanted to punish himself, to suffer the way his family had, so he cut himself off, from the team, from her. He sequestered himself from humanity because it was easier to conduct a vendetta without pesky emotions like mercy and guilt scattering his haze of vengeance.

But despite all of that, despite all of his careful planning and preparation, all of his dissemination and control, he was still a human. Perpetual distance and solitude had never been something he craved. Before Red John, he had been surrounded and admired, always in the spotlight. He still put himself in the spotlight, but it was different now, still purposeful, but the expectations and motivations had changed. Now it was forced, or sarcastic, or diversion.

She usually let him get away with it, his self-imposed exile, let all his flashing lights, and distractions, and misdirection slide. But sometimes...sometimes she could see past all the glamour and sunny disposition to something in his eyes that was small, and alone, and aching. Then she would push, prod, analyze, question, search...chase.

She chased after those fleeting glimpses because when, on occasion, she caught up to them, the result was...indescribable. Patrick Jane unguarded was a sight to behold. When he dropped his act, he was so heart-wrenchingly sad, so achingly beautiful, she felt like she was being shredded and then pasted back together. It took a lot to ruffle Teresa Lisbon's feathers, but the sight of an honest and open Patrick Jane did it every time. And to know that she was the only one who saw, the only one he allowed to see...

He tried to hide it, to disguise it, to keep it from her, but she could always see it, always tell. It seemed that whenever she pushed past his armor, he was simultaneously relieved and horrified. It was like he couldn't decide if he was thankful, or if he dreaded the intrusion, wether he rejoiced or resented.

She didn't know which one she felt either. She knew that every time she breached his walls and gained another piece of the giant Jane jigsaw puzzle, she embedded her self further into his life, into his world. It was a dangerous place to be...one day he might consume her completely.

**A/N: Lyrics are courtesy of Charlotte Martin**


	5. Ave Maria

**A/N: So sorry this update took FOREVER...this was a hard one to write. I had the scene pictured in my head exactly the way I wanted it, but getting it down into words was challenging. I really hope I captured it well, feel free to let me know what you think! As per usual I don't own the Mentalist or anything related. I also don't own the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter, those belong to Beyonce.**

"_Lost in so many different ways_

_Out in the darkness with no guide_

_I know the cost of a losing hand_

_There but for the grace of god..."_

Cho held the book propped open against his legs, fingers poised to turn the page, but he hadn't read anything in the last hour. The words on the page refused to stay still, blurred before his eyes, twisting themselves into snapshot images from that morning. The fantasy world he was trying to submerse himself in remained elusive, as real life refused to release him from it's clutches. He blinked rapidly, an attempt to cleat the memories from his mind...

_Smiley faces everywhere, gleaming red from every direction..._

"_What a pleasure to see you, Mr. Jane..."_

_The glint of a knife..._

_The smoking gun in Lisbon's hands, the tears steaming down her cheeks..._

_The blood on Jane's hands, the torture in his eyes..._

It was so much, too much. He just wanted to leave it behind for a little while.

Elise padded quietly into the room, pajama clad, hair still damp form the shower, a book tucked under her arm. His chest constricted, he couldn't talk to her about this, didn't want to share, he didn't want any of this to touch her in any way. She didn't ask, didn't say a word. She settled herself against his side without a sound, opening her own book and beginning to read. It was exactly what he hadn't known he'd needed. Feeling her warmth against him, knowing she was there, untainted by any of it, ready to give him whatever he needed, allowing him to feel the things he needed to feel in silence...

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He was a lucky man.

"Thank you." The words were reverent in the silence. Her response was simple, a curl of her fingers around his wrist, a gentle squeeze, then she returned to her book. He let out his first real breath since that morning. He felt his muscles loosen and he relaxed back into the couch, into the wonderful woman at his side. _It's over. _ He told himself. _Finally, it's done._

* * *

><p>Rigsby watched her in profile from across the bullpen as she filled out form after form with a steady hand. He knew she wouldn't leave until she finished everything, her determination was admirable, her composure even more so. She had been named aptly, for there was no better description than grace for her conduct throughout the hellish day they had endured.<p>

Her red hair was vivid against her skin. She was pale, too pale, she had been all day. Even her eyes, usually so bright, were muted and wan. He ached to bring her peace, to shoulder some of her burden for her, but that was not his place. Besides, he knew she was strong enough to carry her own burdens.

Their final stand against Red John that morning had taken more out of her than she'd be willing to admit. He glanced down at his own hands, and noticed that they were nowhere near as steady as hers. _Be cool. _He clenched his trembling, rebellious hands into fists. _Be calm...it's done._

* * *

><p>VanPelt wasn't leaving until she finished every bit of paperwork on her desk, if for no other reason than she wasn't sure she could bear to be alone in her apartment right now-after everything-all alone with her thoughts...<p>

The familiarity of the CBI was comforting, and the monotony of the paperwork was a welcome distraction. She wasn't the only one working late, practically everyone was pulling the graveyard shift tonight. It wasn't everyday Red John was brought down once and for all.

_Don't think about it. _She reminded herself. _Don't dwell. _She took several deep breaths and focused on the papers in front of her once more. Despite her forced calm, her back was rigid in her chair and her body was tense with leftover adrenaline. Memories clamored in the back of her mind, attempting to propel themselves to the forefront. Her refusal to let them was giving her one hell of a headache.

The sudden touch on her shoulder was warm and weighted, familiar. Her body relaxed into it before her mind caught up. _Wayne..._ She looked up at him, his eyes were tight with tension, his brows drawn together.

"Hey." Her voice was rough with disuse, "You heading out?"

"Nah, I got some things to take care of here." His hand tightened momentarily on her shoulder, and she understood that he wasn't going to leave until she did. She let her had reach up to cover his for a few lingering seconds.

"Thank you, Wayne."

"Anytime." He squeezed her shoulder again, then proceeded on his way to the break room. She took a deep calming breath and let her eyes close. _It's over, it's finished, and we all made it out alive. It's done._

* * *

><p>Lisbon pulled up behind his blue Citroen, glad that she'd guessed his whereabouts correctly and hadn't driven all the way out here for no reason. She made her way up the front walk, overgrown now, but even in the darkness she could see it's former perfection beneath. The front door opened so silently, it gave her an eerie chill. She been expecting a sort of creepy creaking more befitting the mood. She moved through the dark empty house, fighting the trepidation that was trying to slow her steps.<p>

She worried for him every time he came here, nothing good had ever sent him to this place. She wasn't sure yet how to classify today, good or bad, but the fact that he had come, though expected, was enough the provoke her into worry. She had never been worried enough to follow him here though, this was a first. She had never actually been here before, but she'd seen the crime scene photos, so she had a rough idea of where she was headed.

Blank spaces where pictures used to reside, now ghostly pale, pointed her up the stairs and down the hallway, to the lighted room at the end. She could hear him moving around inside, and she halted, suddenly worried she was overstepping. This wasn't her place, wasn't her business...

Well, screw that. Patrick Jane_ was_ her business, he'd become it a long time ago.

Attempting to prepare herself for whatever sight would greet her, she stretched her had out towards the door. A low groan echoed form inside, someone in pain...cold terror seized her. Jane hurting himself was not usually something she'd consider, but after today... The fear caused her to shove the door open more forcefully than she'd intended. This door did creak. She jumped from the sound as she stood in the doorway and stared at the sight before her. Goosebumps pricked hot along her skin.

He stood facing the wall, suit jacket and vest missing. Blood from that morning still stained the cuffs of his grey shirt a rusted red. New stains were splattered haphazardly across his chest and hands, chaotic white dots from the paintbrush that dangled limply from his fingertips. This same paint was splashed violently onto the wall, covering half of the faded smiley face that resided there. Somehow it looked more evil than it should in it's half obscured state, as if it was protesting being removed, at long last, from the place it had haunted these past years. He was visibly shaking, and sympathetic shivers trembled through her own body. He didn't appear to have noticed her presence, he was utterly fixated on the macabre image in front of him.

She stepped further into the room, hands twitching, aching to reach out to him, to draw him away from the pain radiating all around him. The longer he stared at the smear of red and white on the wall, the more visibly tense he became. She watched as he coiled, sprang. Jane hit the wall with startling force, a grating, wordless cry wrenched from his lips and tore at her ears. He brandished the paintbrush as a weapon, slashing it across the grinning facade, eliminating another piece of it's evil countenance.

He paused, stepped back, his body going completely still, focused completely on what he'd just done. A great sobbing gasp tore from him and echoed in the empty room. The brush slid from his paint speckled fingers, tumbled to the ground, and hit with a decisive thunk, sending drops of paint spattering across the floor.

Lisbon's eyes riveted on his fingers, smeared with white and trembling. Silent tears streaked his pale cheeks, and she was startled to discovers her own cheeks were wet...she was crying too...

"Jane," She wasn't sure wether she'd spoken aloud or in her head. His body sagged, shoulders slumping, knees buckling. Her body followed his before her brain caught up to her actions, her heart pounding, her fingers reaching. She took a step towards him, then another, her very soul straining towards the shattered man before her.

"It's ok, Jane, it's finished, it's over. Jane, it's done."

* * *

><p>Jane's body lost the will to support him and he sagged towards Lisbon's outstretched hands. Her open palms pressed against his chest, holding him up, slowing his fall. She sunk to her knees with him beneath the mostly obscured face, one jeering red eye still glaring malevolently down on them. Loud grating sobs echoed all around and it took a moment before he realized they were his.<p>

Lisbon's arms wrapped around his back, across his shoulders. She held his shaking body to her own, curling herself protectively around his slumped form. His face pressed into her neck, his head tucked underneath her chin. Her face was pressing into his hair, her warm breath slid against his scalp as she emitted her own silent tears.

Somewhere within all of his tumultuous emotional upheaval, Jane recognized that he was grateful she had come to find him. He didn't like to think where he'd be right now in this maelstrom without her to hold on to, to keep him tethered, to provide a tangible link to life. He clung to her, fingers digging into her back, clenching her shirt in his fists. He held on to the woman who'd been with him through it all, and cried out twelve years of bitterness, twelve years of pain and rage, of regret and hopelessness.

He grieved, finally, for the family he had lost.

He could hear Lisbon murmuring to him in a voice coated with tears, he focused on her words, on the feel of her lips against his hair. Forced himself to breathe when she did, though her breathing was nearly as erratic as his own.

"It's over, Jane. He's gone, it's finished." She whispered. "It's all over." She kept up the mantra, reassuring herself as much as him. He forced himself to hear her words, to internalize them, to take them into his soul. His lips silently formed the words as she spoke them aloud.

Tearstained, paint splattered, and slumped on the floor under the ruined calling card of the monster who had hunted them, they clung to each other. Breathing for what felt like the first time in years, they reassured themselves, each other, and all the ghosts that hovered. _ Finally, it's done. _


	6. Worth It in The End

**A/N: OK, so this chapter is just shamelessly jisbon...yay! :) It's not too fluffy but still, hope you enjoy. I still don't own the Mentalist, and the lyrics belong to Sara McLaughlin.**

"_Cast me gently into morning_

_for the night has been unkind._

_Take me to a place so holy_

_that I can wash this from my mind."_

There were some days when he was just so tired. Exhausted physically and mentally, entirely worn down. Days when he was sick of the constant search, the futile fight, the relentless drive to hunt, to seek, to destroy. Days when options like letting go and moving on actually seemed within the realm of possibility, seemed like the better options.

It was on those days that he was most vulnerable to her. When the lure of the sanctuary she offered was at its most tempting. It was on those days her green eyes pierced right though him, and he knew she saw more than he'd ever intended her to.

Those were the days when her crooked smile made his chest ache and her laugh made his heart race.

Those were the days he lingered in her presence, dozed on the couch in her office and hovered while she did her paperwork, in order to soak up as much of the contentment she gave him that he could. Those were the days he actually allowed himself to admit that she brought him contentment, however temporary-that she could bring him utter peace, if he'd let her.

It was on those days he thought that perhaps she was even more dangerous to him than Red John, and allowed himself to acknowledge that she was infinitely more important.

It was on those days he dreamed about her. Sometimes he'd see her solving a case, or reclining on the chair in her office. Sometimes the dreams were all too human and utterly male. Warm and frenzied, gasping and skin, dark hair spread out on his pillow. Sometimes the dreams were just a vague impression of her presence when he woke, her laugh echoing in the empty room, the smell of cinnamon lingering warm in the air.

On those days, he missed his family differently. Certainly not less, but less ferociously. Savored their memory, but didn't cling to it quite so tightly. Let their ghosts rest in favor of the company of the living.

On those days, his emotions were at their most volatile. On those days, feelings like pain and anger could morph into hope and desire with one glimpse of her face.

On those days he contemplated the idea that maybe he could have a future, one not spent in a prison cell, and maybe she could be a part of it.

Those vulnerable, emotional, hopeful days were the days that frightened him more than anything else in the world. Slowly but surely she was dragging him out of the darkness he'd been hiding in for so long, and pulling him back into the light. She was the self-appointed savior of a man who had condemned himself. He dug in his heels, fighting to stay in his black world of vengeance. She poked, and prodded, and pulled, and pushed him closer to the brightness of a world full of forgiveness and peace, and she was as determined as he to succeed.

It terrified him to think that one day, he might let her.


	7. Does It Mean Anything To You?

**A/N: OK, here's the next installment! We all know that Lisbon is a bit of a control freak, so what must it be like for her to have Jane running around constantly challenging her and upending her control? That's what this chapter deals with, I hope you all enjoy! Lyrics are courtesy of ABBA...I own nothing. **

"_Your smile and the sound of your voice _

_And the way you see through me_

_Got a feeling you give me no choice_

_And you make me talk _

_And you make me feel _

_And you make me show_

_What I'm trying to conceal_

_If I trust in you _

_Would you let me down?_

_So I wanna know _

_What's the name of the game?"_

He observed every detail of her, every nuisance. He knew things about her she'd forgotten about herself, it was unnerving and incredibly frustrating. He knew how to push all of her buttons, and she let him, knew what he was doing, and allowed him to manipulate her anyways. She hated it. He cut to the heart of her with his ocean eyes, he coaxed and prodded her, he wheedled conversation from her and drew forth her emotions. He removed her barriers, scaled her walls, and pierced her armor. He knew her secrets, and her pain, and her past, her dreams and her fears. All the things she worked so hard to conceal from the rest of the world, he saw. And what was she to him? A riddle? A puzzle to piece together, to pick apart? Did it mean anything, all of his knowledge, the way he watched her, knew her?

Teresa Lisbon was a private person, sure, but that wasn't exactly the problem. It wasn't that she was incapable of connecting on a personal level, and it wasn't that she was unwilling to have people knowing anything personal about her, she just preferred the acquiring of the knowledge to be on her terms.

She actually didn't mind some of the things he knew about her. Favorite breakfast foods, the exact way she took her coffee, when she had a headache, when she was in need of a little comic relief...She secretly liked that he knew those little things about her. Those tiny details that everyone secretly wishes someone will notice about them but no one really ever does. He noticed those things, and it made her feel taken care of, it was nice. Not that she would admit to it, but Patrick Jane got closer to taking care of her on a daily basis than anyone had in an incredibly long time. Those little things she didn't mind so much.

She minded the other things, the bigger things, the things he couldn't _possibly _know, but somehow knew anyways. Like when he knew she'd been thinking about her brothers, how he knew that the only time she ever drank tea was when she was on her period. How he knew that lilies were her favorite flower because they'd been her mother's. When he knew that the small scar on her right shoulder was from her father's wedding ring the time she'd shielded her youngest brother from his rage. When he knew about her secret affinity for sappy romance novels, because they provided the happy endings she saw so rarely in her line of work. When he knew she preferred bubble baths to showers because they indulged her feminine side, something she so seldom did. She had no earthly idea how he knew these things about her, how he could possibly divine the fact that she'd been thinking about her mother by the way she drove her car, or how he could know what kind of day she was having by the way she did her hair.

It frightened her to think of all the things he knew about her, things she'd never given him permission to know.

She didn't like to admit she had control issues, but she knew that she did. It came from being thrust into the role of caregiver at such a young age, from having no control over the circumstances of her mother's death, or her father's deterioration. But she could lose control, contrary to popular belief, she was capable of letting someone else take charge. Maybe she resented it sometimes, but she could do it, as long as it was her choice to do so. He never gave her any choice, he simply seized and ran. He made her feel so damn vulnerable and she hated it. He stripped her of her defenses and professionalism, laid her soul out bare for his perusal.

He saw the truth of her and it was terrifying.

And he was spoiling her. She was getting used to having someone around who really knew her, even though she acted like he was the bane of her existence. She was used to the way he brought her dinner on the days he knew she'd skipped lunch, used to his magic tricks and shenanigans, used to his presence on her office couch, used to his unique and intriguing blend of darkness and light. He was worming his way into her life to the point where she'd miss him if he were to leave, and his eventual departure was imminent one way or another, Red John's existence ensured that. It drove her crazy because she knew better. She knew not to let people in too far, especially not someone like Patrick Jane. The ex-psychic/unruly consultant came with his own set of rules, problems, and baggage. She knew to be independent and self-sufficient, she knew to trust only what she could control.

She could never control him.

He was a force unto himself, uncontrollable and a little dangerous. He was unpredictable, irreverent, and ungovernable. He robbed everyone he encountered of their control and bent them to his will. She knew these things about him, knew he saw his whole life as a game. A game that ended when he reached his goal, and in the meantime, people, and places, and things were all just malleable tools for him to use and discard.

She _knew_ this.

So why did she sometimes allow herself to believe that she meant more to him than a pawn? Perhaps because of those moments, rare and elusive, when he let down _his_ walls, ceded his own rigid control, and let her see what was real and true about him, the same way he saw her. Those beautifully tragic moments she had come to crave, moments just for the two of them.

Was it worth it?

Were those glimpses of the real him worth playing his game? She knew that if she wanted to truly know him, to truly see, she would have to surrender to him. Could she lose control for Patrick Jane?


	8. The Battle Is Underway

**A/N: OK, so this chapter is a past fic told from VanPelt's point of view, her musings about a day in the office with Lisbon and Jane. It was interesting to do something a little bit longer from VanPelts pov, hope it sounds authentic! Lyrics belong to Sara Bareilles, I own nothing. Hope you guys enjoy!**

"_You love to be somebody's enemy." _

Grace reclined at her desk, watching with a raised brow as Jane sauntered out of the boss's office. She knew Lisbon was in a meeting, which meant that she certainly wasn't the reason for the blinding smile Jane was sporting, which meant only one thing: he was up to something. The consultant only ever looked that happy in rare unguarded moments with Lisbon, or when he was in the middle of one of his schemes. Besides which, if Lisbon wasn't in her office, Jane most definitely had no reason to be. She watched from the corner of her eye as he settled himself onto his couch with a contented sigh. Ten minutes later, Lisbon returned from her meeting. Three minutes after that, VanPelt almost fell out of her chair when she heard the yell.

"Jane!" Lisbon stormed out of her office, a stack of papers brandished in one hand, the other clenched into a white-knuckled fist at her side.

"Yes, my dear?" He didn't move from his prone position, didn't even open his eyes, though Grace thought she could detect the hint of a smile beginning around the corners of his mouth.

"What in the world did you do this for?"

"I'm not sure what it is you think I've done, Lisbon, but-"

"Oh, don't give me that! You know very well what I'm talking about. I never gave you permission to be in my office, and I _certainly _never gave you permission to write all over my paperwork!" VanPelt blanched instinctively at the thunderous look on her boss's face, but Jane merely opened his eyes, the very picture of innocence.

"I was only making notes on the case."

"Notes? Stick-figure doodles and knock-knock jokes are your idea of notes? And what about _this?" _ She pointed to something on the paper that VanPelt couldn't see. "'The politicians, lawyers, and all others branches of personnel attached to this case were supremely unhelpful, not to mention arrogant and unintelligent...'" She quoted off the paper, then looked up with a fierce glare.

"Well, they were," the consultant defended himself, "and you weren't going to include their unprofessional and entitled attitudes in your report so-"

"_Their _unprofessional..._Their _arrogant..." Lisbon sputtered and then shook the papers in Jane's direction. "You realize you've pretty much described yourself here, right?" VanPelt glanced towards the empty bullpen, it was really too bad Cho and Rigsby were assigned follow up interviews all day, they were missing quite a show. Her eyes were drawn back to the scene in front of her as Jane sat up and made a big show of stretching.

"Now that hurts, Lisbon. Truly it does."

"Oh, I'm going to hurt you alright. You messed up my reports, which are due in to Hightower in less than an hour, for your own selfish amusement! Now I've got to redo them-"

"Oh, come now, Lisbon, don't be so dramatic. You and I both know that you save copies of all your reports to your computer, all you have to do is reprint them." Now he was grinning. Grace rolled her eyes and wondered, not for the first time, why their consultant loved making the boss angry.

"That's not the point, Jane. These reports aren't character studies for you to peruse and to analyze, they are my _job. _A job for which you obviously have no respect."

"On the contrary, I have the highest respect for-" She cut him off.

"You know what, Jane? Just-just-_never mind." _She whirled around and stalked back to her office. Jane laid back down and closed his eyes as if nothing had happened. VanPelt sat back in her chair and let her eyes shift back and forth between the couch and Lisbon's office for a minute before getting back to her own reports. Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere.

Pull closer and push away by turns. That's what they did. VanPelt had lost count of the number of times their arguments had morphed into a quiet moment of reconciliation, and vice-versa, a moment of sweet honesty between them devolved into teasing laughter, raised voices, and a hurtled stapler. Whatever the case may be, on any given day, they were always on the extreme ends of the spectrum, no middle ground for her boss and their enigmatic consultant.

When she'd first joined the team almost two years ago, Grace had felt immensely uncomfortable upon having to disturb the two any time they were together. If they were bickering, she feared getting caught in the crossfire. If they weren't bickering, well, it seemed too intimate to interrupt- like she was bursting a bubble that had been painstakingly cultivated. She'd wondered why fate had it in for her, was she cursed to be forever interrupting them? It was a while before she'd realized that it wasn't fate, or karma, or her bad timing. It was Jane and Lisbon. That was just how they were..._all_ of the time.

It was soon after that first revelation she discovered that they operated in a distinct pattern. They compulsively balanced each tender and personal moment with an argument, and for each time they fought, there was an equal number of moments of camaraderie and peace. Grace was sure that it was subconscious, for the most part. She had a feeling that that neither Jane nor Lisbon wanted to look too intently at the reasons why they stopped themselves from getting too close, while simultaneously refusing to grow too far apart either. The romantic in Grace had her own opinions about it, but mostly she liked to think that no matter what form it took, she'd never seen two people balance each other so perfectly, or resent it so much.

Grace likened them to school children playing duck-duck-goose, taking turns prodding at the other, then turning tail to run once they had. Alternately chasing each other and being chased, perpetually retracing the same steps over and over, circling, circling, circling, snagging the other, and then fleeing in the opposite direction once they had.

An hour later, when Lisbon left to pick up her lunch, Jane vacated his couch and meandered into her office. Grace sighed, but she knew it would do no good to say anything to the consultant and anyways, if their pattern held true, his intentions this time were going to prove less sneaky and more sweet. A few minutes later he was back in the bullpen, suit jacked draped over one arm and a coin twirling idly in his fingers. He didn't lay back down.

Two minutes later, Lisbon walked in, paper bag in hand, and headed into her office. Grace flicked her eyes to Jane, leaning back against his desk positioned perfectly to see into the boss's office. She looked back in time to see Lisbon pick up what looked like an intricately folded piece of paper from her desk. She couldn't exactly tell through the blinds, but it looked like some type of bird, though knowing Jane, it really could be any number of shapes. She watched with unabashed curiosity as her boss slowly unfolded the origami. Whatever was on it tugged the corners of her mouth into a small smile, dimples creasing around her lips. Her head came up to look out into the bullpen. VanPelt couldn't help herself, she looked over at Jane too. He was watching Lisbon through the blinds, and as she looked over, he allowed a soft smile to play across his own features and offered a small shrug of his shoulders. Grace quickly flicked her eyes back to the boss in time to see her nod once, smile still in place, then she carefully refolded the paper, pocketed it, and sat down to her lunch. Behind her, VanPelt could hear Jane settling back down onto his couch, and she let her own smile spread as she picked up her pen. Sure, she'd give just about anything to know what Jane had written on that piece of paper, but all was right in the world of Jane and Lisbon again and that was what really mattered. Their chase was done, a truce was called...well, at least until tomorrow. Grace huffed out a quiet laugh and went back to work.

**A/N: So, I was thinking about maybe adding one more part to this one...maybe including what exactly was on that piece of paper...thoughts?**


	9. Knock Knock

**A/N: So this little drabble goes with the previous chapter. It's the contents of the note Jane left for Lisbon. If you haven't read last chapter, "The Battle Is Underway" you probably don't _have _to but this will definitely make more sense if you do...in any case, enjoy!**

The origami bird sat inconspicuously on her keyboard when she returned from lunch. Her shoulders drooped on a sigh, she knew where it came from, obviously. There was only one person in the office who considered paper animals to be an appropriate form of apology. She tossed her lunch onto an empty corner of her desk and reached for the little paper bird. One of it's intricately folded wings sported the words, "_Open me." _She carefully pried the folds apart to reveal what looked like a letter, written in Jane's elegant scrawl. She could feel a smile starting against her will as she saw what he'd written at the top of the page,

"_Teresa Lisbon: A Character Study_

_Conducted by Patrick Jane; Consultant"_

Only Jane would do something like take her angry words and turn them into his apology. Only Jane.

"_Sometimes abrasive and picky. Frequently exasperating and bossy. Often controlling and stubborn to a fault._

_I start with the list of faults because it is rendered insignificant when in comparison to the list of virtues, which include, but are not limited to:_

_Loyalty, compassion, determination, grace, integrity, honesty, and caring. _

_In my years with the bureau, I have come to know you, Teresa, as a brave and selfless woman. You do what you do for the good of others. You are a protector and a warrior, resilient and strong. _

_While I wouldn't list patience as one of your virtues, you consistently demonstrate an admirable restraint, especially in dealing with the antics of a certain consultant. _

_You are a singular woman, Agent Lisbon, and truly the best I know._

_P.s. Knock knock..._

_Who's there?_

_Ears_

_Ears who?_

_Ears lookin' at you, Kid!"_

She knew she was smiling for real now. It didn't matter if he was only spouting off flowery nonsense to entice her forgiveness, she knew he must mean at least some of what he'd put into the letter, otherwise he never would have written it. And it was sweet, almost out of character for him. Jane always played it so close to the vest, never revealing his true thoughts. She felt almost honored that he'd shared, flattered that he thought those things about her. She knew, of course, that making her feel this way had been exactly what he'd been going for. He knew she couldn't be angry at him when he'd been so complementary of her. Damn it. She was still smiling, she couldn't help it.

She brought her head up from the paper and caught his eye through her window. Ignored the warmth his smile and sheepish shrug inspired. She nodded in acknowledgment and made sure he saw her refold the paper and slip it into her pocket.


	10. Hell Bent

**A/N: A snapshot of Jane's thoughts while in jail. I'm not sure about this one, I was more up front about Jane's feelings for Lisbon than I usually am, I'm not sure if it comes off as a little out of character...Anyways, I wanted to get one more moment out before the premier, who knows how things will change after that? Lyrics belong to Kenny Chesney. Enjoy!**

"_When it comes to you_

_Oh, the damage I could do_

_It's always your favorite sins_

_That do you in."_

_Thou shall not kill._ Twice now he'd taken a life. Once his actions had been sanctioned by the law- defense, not murder. He was still awaiting judgement for his most recent transgression, however justified he believed it to be.

_Honor thy mother and father._ He honored his father the same way his father had honored him. Not at all.

_Thou shall not take the Lord's name in vain. _He really couldn't care less. He'd always said whatever it pleased him to say, no matter how outlandish, insulting, or ridiculous.

_Thou shall not lie. _Almost nothing in his world was true. His entire life was one big falsehood, an intricate web of deceit and deflection.

_Thou shall not create false idols. _He was definitely guilty of this sin. He had made his own self into an idol, communing with the "Other Side," contacting departed souls, speaking for the dead, reveling in the attention and fame.

_Thou shall not worship false gods. _He worshiped nothing, believed in nothing.

_Honor the Sabbath- keep it holy. _ As far as he was concerned, Sunday was exactly the same as any other day, just another stretch of hours filled with death, and despair, and loneliness.

_Thou shall not covet. _He was most definitely a covetous man. He'd never been content with what he had, with his possessions, with his family. Always looking to get more, more fame, prestige, wealth... Punishment for this sin had already been dealt to him, swift, and painful, and smiling.

_Thou shall not steal. _He stole all the time; case files and witness statements, coroner's reports, anything to do with the Red John case. He also stole free will, swindled it from his those he hypnotized, robbed them of their truths without consent or care.

_Thou shall not commit adultery. _Patrick Jane stretched an arm above his head, splaying his hand against the backdrop of his cell's ceiling. His wedding band glinted, even in the dull light. He knew he wasn't truly guilty of this sin, but it certainly felt that way sometimes. After all, he still wore his ring, a symbol of commitment and devotion to his wife. But time had shifted his focus. His commitment to her had become commitment to a cause, to revenge, to a hunt for the man who had taken away the reason he wore the ring in the first place. He was now wholly devoted to his mission, to his vendetta. How could he wear the ring while it symbolized the wrong commitment? He kept it on, told himself everyday to see it and think of his family, to remember the woman he was doing it all for. He could be devoted to both things. He told himself that it wasn't a _true_ betrayal.

He hadn't known the guilt of a true betrayal of his vows until _her. _Until those times when some insignificant thing she'd done made his hands tremble, his breath catch, his heart beat... Every time it happened the metal that encircled his finger seemed to grow, the sudden weight of it so glaring, he felt as thought the strength of it would pull him down to the ground, and then straight on down to hell. If he believed in hell, that is.

She made him feel like he was betraying everything, the things he'd set out to do, the very man he had become. Sometimes when he looked at her, he knew he was betraying both of the reasons he wore the ring. So he pushed her away, separated himself. She was the best person he'd ever known, and he was a damned and hell bent shell of a man. She deserved better. He could see the effect he had on her, how he brought her down. How her association with him and his demons took it's toll. How she _hurt _because of him, how she could _die_ because of him. He might crave the solace she gave him, the momentary respite from his guilt and his rage, but he saw the potential for grief, saw the damage he could wreak on her incomparable soul, and he couldn't bear the thought. All the other sins he could accept- all of his transgressions admitted too. But not her. He fought against his sin of wanting her as if it were a matter of life or death. And it was. It was a matter of hers.

He lay on his cot, in his cell, one arm curled beneath his head on the lumpy pillow, the other still stretched in the air, growing numb, draining of color, ring standing out even more prominently on his pale finger. He blinked and lowered his hand to his chest, over the place where his heart beat, felt the sharp, prickling sting of the blood rushing back into his fingers. A reminder that even if she and her team managed to work their magic and he was released from this place, it didn't matter. She was still out of reach. Even more so now than ever before. He was a murderer now, not just a killer. Wanting her, needing her, might be his most transgressed sin, but he was a condemned man, be it in prison or out, and he refused to drag her down with him.


	11. On The Corner Of Ordinary Street

**A/N: Alright, well, this is really an episode tag for 4x01, but it is also a snapshot of a moment with jisbon so I'm posting it here :) At the very end of the ep. Jane and Lisbon get into the car together, this is a little peek into their heads during that moment, it's short and bittersweet. Hope you enjoy! **

"_I'm getting weary waiting for the harbor lights to change._

_I've forgotten what I do it for, but I tread water just the same._

_Never let this pair of hands forget to pull their weight._

_This burden may be more than I want to bear_

_But still it's less than I can take."_

He walks out the doors, into the open air, a free man, judged and decreed innocent. He breathes in and looks around, feels like maybe he should be seeing things differently, but no, there is no new light shed on his surroundings, no renewed appreciation for freedom. Everything looks the same, smells the same. The same wind in his hair, the same sun on his skin, the same green eyes watching him.

She lounges in a chair across the street, waiting for him - always waiting. Their eyes meet and his wave beckons forth her crooked smile. She pushes to her feet, stepping forward to meet him as he crosses the street, her eyes sparkling with relief. They stand together, each with one hand curled around a door handle.

And for one brief and fleeting moment, a man - just a man - stands on a street in front of a courthouse with a woman - just a woman - only the width of a car between them. He is free and she has been waiting. There are no demons left to fight; they are simple and blissfully ordinary. A man and a woman smile at each other, walls crumbled and barriers fallen- the air between them open and light.

A fracture of reality splinters the moment and his smile, bringing with it a wave of actuality and truth. It crashes down, sweeping away the man and the woman, the peace and openness. It leaves behind two individuals with walls and barriers newly forged. His smile, now only the ghost of an impression around his lips. Hers, fading along with the light in his eyes. His head tips down, severing the connection, and she blinks long and slow.

Two pairs of hands pull on opposite door handles, they sit in silence for a moment, each mourning the loss of that man and that woman. They grieve for the memory of that simplicity, but push it aside, shrugging into their battle-worn armor, it settles onto their shoulders along with the knowledge that the war still rages on. They have succeeded in winning one small fight, but the true battles are yet to come.

He breathes out, and she breathes in, and they sacrifice who they could be for who they are.


End file.
